Most Happy
by TheLadyAranel
Summary: My heart was still, as it always grew still when around him. Though it is best that you know the lives we once lived together was lost when Erebor was taken and it had been many long years since I had last looked up Thorin's face…so long in fact, he had not yet been known as Thorin Oakenshield-he was simply Thorin then. Thorin/OC IN PROGRESS R&R Welcome


A story like mine should not be told. Like the crown jewels of Erebor, it is forbidden as it is fragile in all of its mystery and wonder. It is true; I certainly was not born to the life of a warrior maiden but like so many things in my life, I was thrown into this existence by the love I bared my betrothed. It all started when I was very young, nearly twenty, and the stone fortress of people stood untainted by the stench of Smaug. At the height of the world my King and Lord ruled with surety; without fear. Thror's line of succession was secured in the lives of his son, Thrain, and his grandson, Thorin, whose son I was to bear. We, the dwarves of Erebor, were the envy of all the free peoples of Middle Earth and it was not by chance we were made so. The craftsmanship of my kin was unmatched by men and elves alike, crafting toys of magic and instruments played unheard by any outside the grand halls. Below us, the men of Dale reveled in our majesty and paid us kindly for our services. All seemed to worship us, like Mahal above and I to this day believe the loss of our home was due to this arrogance. At the time however, we cared so little for humility and humbleness. We all lived lavishly in our fine embroidered clothing, trimmed handsomely in fur, dyed chiefly in purple and indigo, as befitting colors of royalty. Our crowns of sapphire and rubies that graced our brows, did match our fine clothes perfectly, crafted from the same stones that were plucked from the mines beneath our very feet. We didn't just dress fashionably however, for you have not lived until you have dined the way we had, in the Great Hall. For there were roaring fires, which kept us warm on the colder nights, which were fed kindling by the thousands of servants my Lord did have. Salted pork and sweet marrow pies were in plenty, as was the drink of bitter ale, and sweet wine. Such merriment was had in those days, so carefree. I never thought such times would end. It wasn't until the King's Jewel was unearthed by chance that our grand fortune dwindled like the dying flame of a candle.

So slow and painful was it to watch the King succumb to the sickness within him that my love then grew distant. In the days of darkness, Thorin hardly spoke to anyone. The prince did not sleep, nor did he eat. There was no more music, and the feasts did cease thereafter. Fires that warmed the halls of Erebor only blew against the cold drafts of the mountain, giving no warmth. Colors and laughter seemed to drift away until there was no color, no laughter. All that was left of our grandness was envy and bitterness. The King's own council did plunder our wealth and left in the night, as the watchful times grew closer. All who were close to Thror knew danger floated on the air, in what form or gravity we did not know. I had tried to plead the case of caution to my love, but even Thorin's grief was beyond reason. We were all but leaderless and vulnerable, while the King under the Mountain bathed in his riches which he no longer shared with his people, too greedy to leave his hoard. That is when the worm pillaged us, leaving us with nothing. To witness such a thing is enough to leave your mind scattered about, like the bodies which littered the gates of the once greatest kingdom in Middle Earth. Insanity claimed my father, as it claimed Thrain's and the dragon Smaug did slay my sister. It wasn't until many years later that Thorin called out to those willing to aid him. For my love, it is to regain all that his grandfather and father had left him. It is Thorin's hope to reclaim his throne and homeland for his people…I do not have the heart to tell him, but this is not the reason I aid him. I seek only revenge for what was stolen from me. I have long renounced my title to take up my father's axes. For I was once helpless against my attacker, never will that happen again…

I had set out nearly a fortnight ago with my companions, Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur on a day in late summer. We had packed lightly, carrying only what provisions were needed for the journey ahead of us-though Bombur did smuggle in a large amount of salted jerky-leaving behind the Blue Mountains that we had called home for many a year. Recalling that day, I remember the sun was unusually bright, though it could have been my excessive amount of time spent underground. Nevertheless, the wind gave a decent enough breeze to keep the ponies cool enough to make good distance and Bofur had been in a cheery mood. He did sing and laugh and carry on as he often did, whittling at a piece of wood, a full pipe behind his teeth. There is nothing quite like the company of Master Bofur, if you have never had the pleasure of the experience, and dear reader let me tell you, there is no tender hearted dwarf quite like the humble toymaker. He did make the traveling and all of its unpleasantness more bearable, never once complaining as I had done. I once had the nerve to confront him on the matter, inquiring why he hadn't said a word about the mud beneath our pelts at night, or the disappearance of our wizard guide. He simple stated with a smile upon his face, 'You complain enough for the both of us, so I see no reason to frown.' And with a wink he would continue to hum a ballad trot ahead, never once offended by my curtness. With such companions at my side, the minor setbacks I had to complain about dwindled in my short lived temper, and soon enough we had found ourselves in the land of the Halflings.

The Shire was a place unlike any you big folk nowadays have ever seen. Home to the Hobbits, the rolling green hills of The Shire hold no magic, except perhaps the everyday kind that is overlooked by the big stupid folk. There were many faces I can remember, that looked upon us in fear and some with abhorrence for outsiders. For the Shire Folk are not fond of adventures or of adventurers. They like their simple lives, for they are simple folk…well that can be said for most of them anyway. On occasion, a Hobbit from the Took bloodline will find themselves doing things all together un-Hobbit like. Some say, it is because a Took had taken himself a fairy wife and when that happened their genes began all jumbled; of course however, that is ridiculous.

It was in the Shire however, that we were to find our Burglar and fifteenth member of the company put together by Thorin. Gandalf the Grey was charged with finding our Burglar and I can tell you now, none of us-not even mister Bofur-was all together sure of the place of residence. Thieves and plunderers hardly keep gardens and a tidy well to do home. Nonetheless, as night fell upon the green hills of Hobbits' homes, we did meet with five other members of our company. There was Oin and Gloin, Nori, Ori, and Dori who had all lost their way before finding the mark upon Mr. Baggins' bright green door. All tired and rather anxious to meet our newest addition to the company-aside from Gloin who was rather displeased and in a foul mood-we each stepped up to the door and knocked promptly. What happened next I will never forget, for it brings a smile to my face simply from memory. Whether it was Gloin or Ori, neither will confess to it, one of them had caught Bomburs boot strings under their foot and as the large dwarf tumbled, so did the rest of us. One by one we fell into the home of the frazzled Bilbo Baggins, and one by one did we all let out cries and pleas for Bombur to relieve us of his weight. As we all had gathered ourselves and stood upon our feet, introductions were given and our hoods placed kindly on the many hooks the hobbit had for the guests he seemed to enjoy having.

I learned quite a bit about our hobbit friend in the time we waited for Thorin to arrive. Aside from the reunion with kin and the food we devoured there was hardly anything to occupy myself with. While my male counterparts drank and made merry, the hardwiring of my mind could not relinquish the proper she-dwarf I was raised to be. In my opinion I do believe my well tempered behavior was Master Baggins' saving grace that night, for poor Fili and Kili had nearly brought the poor fellow's sanity to an end. In between the constant catering to my companions, Bilbo did grace me with the history of his home-although frazzled very much by the commotion in the background-and as soon as he seemed to relish my company, he was whisked away again by demands for more ale from Dwalin or another glass of wine for Gandalf.

It was in that time alone, I had sat with my lyre, pondering the whereabouts of Thorin and plucking the golden strings of my instrument. I was never a fine singer like my Lord, but my playing was exquisite and it was the least I could do for the hospitality given to my kin by the Hobbit. After all, it wasn't the intentions of my companions to test every last nerve of poor Master Baggins, it was simply their nature to drink and be merry as dwarves will. But as an hour passed, a knock fell upon the door and the hole grew silent. I too did stop my playing and raised my ears to scuffling of boots and scrapping of chairs against the floor in order to meet the stranger beyond that round green door. My heart was still, as it always grew still when around him. Though it is best that you know the lives we once lived together was lost when Erebor was taken and it had been many long years since I had last looked up Thorin's face…so long in fact, he had not yet been known as Thorin Oakenshield-he was simply Thorin then.

After the fall of Erebor, our lives had been made separate. In desperation to give me the life I had been brought up to live, Thorin had decided not long after we were exiled that my betrothal should be secured to another. At such a time in my youth, I took his actions as cruelty towards me and pushed him far away. I had thought I had loved him then and if anything he would seek to have me at his side, to show his people that even in exile they could look to him for steady reassurance. When I refused to leave his side for another, I had renounced any claim I had to my noble birth right and went to live within the Blue Mountains, which Thorin had secured for all of us. Tending the wounded and ill within the infirmary ward, I made my life there. In all that time I had hardly heard whispers of Thorin, let alone seen him. The closest I had come to seeing his face was when Dis had bore her sons, on both occasions I was present. The princess spoke of him to me as she held Fili the first time, and Kili the second, but seeing as the men were not allowed to be present for births; Thorin had not made an appearance.

Standing from the armchair in the living quarter of the Hobbit's home, I gingerly laid my lyre against the cushion where I had been sitting and quietly stepped closer to the entrance of the house. I had come to stand next to Balin, whom I had previously in the night reunited with, for we had grown up together in the mountain. His eyes danced with pride for the king that stood before all of us and for the first time in many, many years, I felt regal again. As my gaze shifted from Balin to Thorin, my mind did also adjust. Age had been kind to him; despite the hardships he had faced and although silver did now adorn his crown and beard, beneath it I still saw the prince I had once loved fiercely. It was then that his eyes did meet mine.

Stepping closer, he examined me much the same as I had been taking him in. Thorin stood proud and tall, much taller than when we had last met, and his eyes danced in pools of indigo that I hardly remembered to be as grand as they were. In my mind, the events that took place in those brief moments lasted so much longer, but as soon as he approached me, he did kiss my hand and bow low. "M'lady."

Following suit I did curtsey and avert my eyes, as I might have done years ago. "You're Majesty."

And as soon as that moment had passed between us, it had ended with Thorin standing tall once again and looking down upon our hobbit. "Gandalf…this can't be the Burglar you mentioned."


End file.
